Yharnum Age
by Pappenheimer
Summary: A blasphemous ritual goes awry, and in the wake of the destruction of the Conclave, a Hunter Ascended steps from the ashes. Starts as a "Playthrough" fic, but departs DA:I canon after the prologue ends.
1. The Wrath of Heaven 1

**The Wrath of Heaven 1: The Beginning**

A voice whispers on the wind: "Good Hunter Andras…"

The world is swirling, a storm writhing against the laws of the universe. Something is wrong. It is never as such. Unnatural. Perverted. A man wakes amid the chaos. He's older, his long, scholarly face scarred and cragged. Spiders with a hundred eyes rise from nothing, birthed by this strange storm. Their intent – he cannot fathom, but they pursue him yet.

"Hunter Andras," the voice whispers again.

The man, Andras, grits his teeth and rises to run. The world swells, and a staircase forms from rocks. It shouldn't have been, but it is. At the top stands a figure. Female in form, she opens her arms, reaching out to draw the man closer to her.

"Andras!" she calls again.

Salvation. With renewed purpose, the man gives one last burst of speed. As he reaches her form, the world burns away.

There is a feeling of loss.

And then, nothing.

Andras awakens from that nightmare in a dark, dank area. The ambience almost feels familiar. Almost. The area is wet and moist. Definitely not comfortable. He can hear a slow drip of water, plinking in long, irregular intervals.

He looks down with a queer expression, almost a realization that he has hands. And then, the realization deepens further as he realizes those hands are bound together by manacles. He is a prisoner.

Why?

More comprehension dawns on him as he hears the sleek ting of metal brushing against metal. There are four guards, each with a sword drawn. Four guards surrounding him. Guarding him. He is a danger to them.

Why?

Suddenly, his arms flairs to life with a green glow, pain cutting deep. He grunts, his face contorting in pain. This… mark – it is not his. It is foreign. He wants to debride it from himself, excise this cancer. It is painful, and as he curls in on himself, cradling the pained limb, a part of him is aware that the guards are spooked by this light. They are nervous, their swords ready to descend upon him at the slightest reason.

"N-no!" he mutters, his voice rough and cracking from disuse, while he tries to maneuver his hands in a placative gesture, instead only flailing them up and down.

Suddenly, the door opens and two women enter. The guards and the man turn their attention to these new figures, the man from curiosity, while the guards from respect.

The first woman is shorter and stern, her hair a stern, spartan coiffure. She is dressed in plate and mail and some scars mar her face. A black tabard with a flaming eye is draped over her armor. In short: military.

The other woman wears mail and robes, her face obscured by both hood and shadows.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you," the stern woman says.

Andras sits in silence. He hardly knows where he is, never mind anything else. Conclave? Deaths? Death is no foreign concept to the man, but there's an itching in the back of his mind, of something locked away. He is unfamiliar with how this woman is throwing about the term "Conclave," but his voice is too hoarse to warrant a full rebuttal.

"You – the sole survivor, and no one can place your identity. Neither Chantry nor Circle, nor any of the mercenaries hired," she continues, after giving a small pause for Andras to speak.

His silence, though, only appears to further aggravate the woman. She turns on him, grabbing his hands. The man weakly protests, but the woman continues.

"Explain this!" she says, forcing his sparking hand in front of his face. He grimaces as it flares again.

Shaking his head, his voice is rough as he replies. "I… can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?"

Andras takes a breath. What can he say? He hardly even knows how he got here, wherever that is, in the first place. "I don't know what that is or how it got there."

"You're lying!"

"No! Honest – please!" he says, flinching as the woman gears up to strike him.

The other woman steps from the shadows and stops the arm from striking. Shaking her head, she speaks in a light voice. "We need him, Cassandra."

"Whatever you think I did, I'm innocent," Andras replies, drawing his hands closer to himself. He casts a look between the two women.

The other woman turns her attention to him. He is no longer so sure he wants it. Really, he just wants to be anywhere but here.

"Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

The man's lips tighten, and he closes his peculiar eyes as he forces the memory – any memory, really – to the forefront of his thoughts. "I… remember running. Things chasing me. And then… at the summit – a woman?" he almost smiles as the memory dances in the forefront of his mind. The woman whom he can barely remember – she's a comfort – a friend. He knows it in his soul. But her memory is lost to him.

"A woman?"

He nods his head, encouraging the memory as much as it tries to dance away. "She reached out to me, she sought me to come, but…" he shakes his head. "The rest I cannot remember."

What did happen to her? This woman, this friend? Was she alright?

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift," Cassandra says.

The other woman, Leliana, leaves quietly.

"What _did_ happen?" Andras asks.

"You truly don't know?" Cassandra replies.

Andras nods. Cassandra pulls him to his feet. Using deft motions, she produces a rope, which she promptly ties around your hands before removing the manacles.

She shakes her head. "It will be easier to show you. Come."

She leads him up and out from the bowels of the dungeon. Cassandra doesn't even need to point. As he looks to the sky, he sees the desecration of the world. The sky is torn asunder, a deep green swirling abyss in the place of sky. Green energy pulses within the rift, steady like a heartbeat, and Andras feels his own mark throb a painful echo.

"We call it the Breach," Cassandra says. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave."

Andras continues observing the Breach, its unnatural lights mesmerizing. Almost like a memory. He tears his eyes away from the hole in the sky to look at Cassandra. "An explosion can do that?"

"This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world."

As if on cue, there's a swell of energy. The Breach pulses, stronger this time. Green energy arcs out from the center, and Andras feels his mark bite deeper into himself. No, not bite. That is not a strong enough word. Neither is burn. It sears his very soul, and he collapses, his being fighting against the pain and the force of… whatever his mark is.

Cassandra looks down upon him impassively. "Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn't much time."

Andras looks at her incredulously. "You still think I did this? To myself? You said yourself it's killing me."

"Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong."

"And if I'm not responsible? What will you do then?"

"Someone is, and you are our only suspect," Cassandra remarked harshly. "You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way."

Andras frowned. "You say it may be "the key." To doing what?"

"Closing the Breach. Whether that's possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours."

"So, I don't really have a choice about this."

Cassandra scowls at him. "None of us has a choice."

Andras holds his tied hands up. Cassandra continues scowling, though it softens just a little as she bends down and pulls Andras back to his feet.

"…Thank you," Andras mutters.

Cassandra doesn't respond.

She leads their way through the town. Gossip spreads like fire, and Andras can hear the scowling people whispering hateful things amongst themselves. They are hostile, and likely Cassandra's presence is the only thing holding them back from rending him to pulp.

"They have decided your guilt. They need it," Cassandra says. Andras sees someone spit in his direction. It falls short, but the sentiment is felt. "The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead."

By now, they've reached the town's gate. Armed soldiers – again in plate and mail – open the heavy wooden doors at Cassandra's approach. She pays them no mind.

"We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the breach is sealed."

She stops, and you both stand there on the frozen road. Interminable seconds pass as she reaches into the small sheath on her belt. The small dagger glints maliciously in the frozen light.

Andras' heart beats faster in his chest.

"There will be a trial. I can promise no more," Cassandra says. Then, with quickly, fluid movements, the dagger is moving. Andras doesn't even have time to flinch before it tears through the rope around his wrists.

Andras casts her an odd look.

"Come. It is not far."

"You've released me?"

"I can't be dragging you along behind me. There is a road, but I can't be picking you up every time you trip over a rock."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach."

"Why not just use it on the Breach if you think it's the key?"

"And what? Perhaps that was the plan all along. At best, it kills you. At worse, it makes the Breach worse."

"Is that even possible?"

Cassandra scowls. "I don't know. But there are many things we don't know about rifts in the sky or strange people walking out of explosions."

"Touché."

A/N: I'm still alive, and I have not forgotten about Weather the Storm. I'm just taking a hiatus while I work out some plot points. Gotta make sure what's written will make sense!

In the meanwhile, here's the start of another fic, a happy little cross-over of Bloodborne and Dragon Age: Inquisition.

-Pappenheimer


	2. The Wrath of Heaven 2

**The Wrath of Heaven 2: To the First Rift**

The bridge is a mess. There are huge pits in the masonry, and rubble and crates litter the ground. Two guards stand fast at the gate. Their gaze lingers on Andras as he and Cassandra pass.

On the bridge, people throng and come and go in swells. Wounded soldiers loiter near crates and the more solid-looking railing. A member of the Chantry, Andras presumes, is preaching the Holy Word to soldiers and civilians alike. Another Chantry member is praying the last rites for six canvas-wrapped corpses. A soldier sits rocking himself in fetal position. He's no more than a boy, really, Andras thinks to himself as he glances the face below the helm.

And on and on, Andras sees more of the dead and the Chantry recording the events. Men and women praying, beseeching the Maker to take this trial from them. And each who recognized Andras did not hide their scorn. It was something he would just need to live with.

As the reach the other side of the bridge, Cassandra speaks:

"Open the gate! We are headed into the valley!"

Wordlessly, the soldiers turn and heave the heavy wooden doors open. The hinges protest as the weight moves in its arc to open the portal. Together, Andras and Cassandra fully exit the town.

The continue in silence, Andras not exactly caring to make small-talk with his captor. Never mind that the hill they're ascending does have something of a steep grade to it. Still, watching his step gives him something to do, rather than talk to her.

Suddenly, he hears a noise up the road ahead, though he can't see anything amid the barricades and rubble. He casts a quick look to Cassandra. She looks unconcerned, and he's not entirely sure if she hears the hurried clink of metal on metal drawing closer, or if she truly is unconcerned.

Then they turn a corner and three men rush by, one shouting "Maker, it's the end of the world!" Nothing of concern after all.

As they continue their steady ascent, they pass more dead. Andras wonders for a brief moment what killed them before remembering that Cassandra had mentioned something of a world of demons being opened because of the Breach.

Searing pain courses through him again, the mark on his hand sparking brightly. Every muscle contracts and he wants to be sick, but then the pain subsides. His heartrate slows, and he accepts Cassandra proffered hand. She looks somewhat concerned before masking it behind an impassive scowl.

"The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face," she tells him.

"How did I survive the blast?"

"You didn't," Cassandra replied, before his confused expression prompted her to explain further. "They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you'll see soon enough."

They continue on, descending down the path. There's a bridge ahead, soldiers and a wagon crossing it, likely troops trying to establish some forward camp somewhere. When Andras and Cassandra themselves begin crossing, one of the soldiers turns, hearing their approach. She opens her mouth to say something, but whatever it is turns to a shrieks and cries of alarm as a flaming stone crashes and destroys the bridge.

And Andras is falling.

Down, reaching, grabbing. Trying to find any purchase. And then he grunts as the wind is knocked from his lungs. It's cold and wet. The river is frozen solid, so at least he's not drowning, but there're still puddles of ice-cold water that's soaked his grey robes.

As he rises back onto his feet, another flaming rock hits the frozen water. And then it happens. The fabric of reality seems to shift, and a puddle of green light pools on the surface of the river.

Then, a monster rises.

Cassandra splays her hand out, placing herself protectively between Andras and the creature.

"Stay behind me!" she shouts as she rushes to the creature. It is a horrifying thing, looking like some spirit of the diseased. It is a material thing, but its body is the brown of rot and decay, and rags hang from its weathered form.

Cassandra dives into battle with the fiend, batting aside its wicked claws with her shield before going in for a cut.

While she's occupied, Andras notices another pool of green rift forming.

"Uh, Cassandra…?" Andras attempts to call as he backs up. If one shade came from the first rift, what could come from this? He backs up, attempting to place some distance between himself and whatever monster comes. At least, until something metallic flashes in the light.

Daggers.

He had daggers once, he remembered. He could use these. Not the same as what he once knew, but a blade was a blade.

He scrambled to the weapons, deftly picking them up, one in each hand. Standing and turning, he faced his enemy just in time: the monster had finished crossing the rift between, and, indeed, it was another shade.

Andras cast a quick glance at Cassandra. She was holding her own, if not doing some serious damage to her shade.

Right.

Let the Hunt begin.

Gripping the blades, he paused, studying the shade, looking for an opening. It wound up its arm, way overextending the limb behind it as readied itself for a swing.

Too slow.

Andras breathed. The movement felt natural. He flowed under the arm, jabbing first into where the creature's armpit would be. If it had any organs, the lung should be punctured. But this was a monster of the unknown. Instead, he utilized the blade to redirect his momentum. Instead of dodging below the beast and flying far out the back, he swung, flinging his body immediately behind the shade and plunging his other blade deep into the back. He liberated the first blade and ducked, none too soon as the shade's other clawed hand came to swipe at his head, reaching desperately behind its back.

It twisted, turning to face him. Still, that one arm was beginning to look favored. He'd done some damage, after all. He darted behind again, slipping below the other arm. He sliced a blade underneath, rather than stab, sliding past. While the creature roared in agony, he took the opportunity to leap at the shade's back. Both daggers sunk into the shade's back, and the shade seemed to melt back into the earth.

He looked over. Cassandra was nearly finished with her own. Still fueled by the adrenaline of the fight, Andras took off with a running leap, again sinking the daggers into the shade's back. It, too, melts back into the earth.

Deftly, Andras wipes the blood from his blades. It's a familiar motion. He can almost trace the memory of doing this a hundred times, wiping off the blood of the beasts from the hunt.

But then Cassandra turns her blade on him.

"Drop you weapons. Now," she orders.

Andras holds his weapons in plain sight before him. "One of those demons attacked me. What was I supposed to do? Let it kill me?"

"You don't need to fight."

"So this won't happen again? We won't be attack by… well, this anything again?"

Cassandra ponders Andras' statement before sighing. "You're right. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember you did not attempt to run."

Andras nods. "And I won't. Not if I can fight." He chuckles a little. "And if I can't, I'll probably be knocked out somewhere."

Cassandra eyes him, her face indiscernible. "Take these potions. Maker knows what we will face."

Andras stashes the potions into one of the pouches on his belt before turning back to Cassandra. "Where are all your soldiers?"

"At the forward camp, or fighting. We are on our own, for now."

Andras and Cassandra continue making their way, following the snaking frozen river. There are more demons that spawn, and Andras and Cassandra dispatch them together. Twice Andras thinks Cassandra wants to say something, but both times she swallows her words before they can leave her mouth.

Instead, they both content themselves with following the path and killing the demons that stand in their way.

Soon, the path snakes into a steep, snowy staircase. With slices and bashes, they send the demons at the base back to the rift before ascending the stairs. Andras can hear the sound of fighting even at the base, though he cannot see anyone.

At the crest, Cassandra comments on the noises. "We're getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting."

"Who's fighting?"

"You'll see soon. We must help them."

"Fine. Keep your secrets."

"Says the man who walked out of an explosion."

Andras choses to ignore that statement. He still is not entirely sure what happened – how he got there, where he came from – any of it, really.

They follow the sounds of fighting until they can see soldiers engaged with demons. They don't even spare a glance with each other before they both dive into the fray.


	3. The Wrath of Heaven 3

**The Wrath of Heaven 3: At the First Rift**

A green rift pulses in the center of the area, and Andras feels ripples of pain in his mark.

Andras and Cassandra dive into the fray, separating to engage where they are most needed. Andras slips below the guard of one shade, already greatly battered by the soldiers fighting it, to plunge his daggers into what he presumes is the monster's neck. It dissipates back to the earth.

The soldiers pick new targets.

While Cassandra is engaged with another shade, he spies more of the wraith-like creatures on the edges of their fray.

He grunts as he makes a dash to the creature. It senses him, and turns an icy blast toward him. He digs his heel into the ground to dodge, but misses a patch of ice and slips into the blast. As he falls, he twists, turning the momentum into a roll. Damn, that blast has him chilled to the bones.

He flexes his wrists as he follows through, this time finding purchase to jump and leap at his target. With the distance closed, the wraith falls easily.

He looks back to the rest of the skirmish. There's still two mostly beaten shades left, and he sprints back into the fight. One receives a well-placed bolt to the head, courtesy of the stocky man with the crossbow, and melts back to the earth. One to go.

The last is engaged with Cassandra, and he slips in behind it. A deft slash of his daggers to its throat and it joins the other.

A slender man with a bald head and rather pointy ears hurries to his side. "Quickly, before more come through!"

The man grabs Andras' wrist and, before he can protest, holds it up to the rift. Energy, the same brilliant sickly green that colors the rift, leaps from the mark on his hand and connects with the rift. He can feel the connection in his soul, like a part of his own will. He wills the rift to close, and it does.

"What did you do?" Andras asks the man, disconcerted.

He humbly replies, "I did nothing. The credit is yours."

"You mean the mark, this?" Andras asks, holding up his left, crackling hand. It no longer stings so bad now that the rift is sealed.

The man nods. "Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake," he smiles, "– and it seems I was correct."

"Meaning it could also close the Breach itself," Cassandra adds.

The man casts a look to Cassandra. "Possibly," he says, before turning his attention back to Andras. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation," he remarks with some amusement.

"Good to know! Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever," says the stout man with the crossbow. He turns to Andras, and with lighthearted pomp, introduces himself. "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tag-along," he says, casting a quick wink at Cassandra. Her scowl deepens.

"Are you with the Chantry, or…?"

The slender man chuckles. "Was that a serious question?"

Varric replies in good humor. "Technically I'm a prisoner, just like you."

"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine," Cassandra says to Varric. "Clearly that is no longer necessary."

"Yet, here I am," he retorts. "Lucky for you, considering current events."

"That's a nice crossbow you have there," Andras adds. He's seen it in action. Varric used it like it was practically a part of him, every shot steady and true.

"Ah, isn't she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together."

"Bianca?"

"Of course. And she'll be great company in the valley."

"Absolutely not," Cassandra cuts in. "Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…"

"Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?" Varric counters. "Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me."

Cassandra shakes her head, her scowl back at home on her face.

The slender man chooses this point to speak again. "My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I'm pleased to see you still live."

"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,'" Varric adds.

Andras turns back to Solas. "You know about all this?"

"Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters," Cassandra explains.

"Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra," Solas adds. "My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin."

Mages, apostates, circles and fades. The place just seems to get stranger and stranger. What did he wake up into?

"If you don't mind my asking, how did you keep the mark from killing me?"

"Healing magic and minor wards, but I fear your mark is now past the point where those can help you."

"Oh." Well, guess the mark is stuck there.

"Cassandra," Solas says, "you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power."

"Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly," she replies.

Varric smirks. "Well, Bianca's excited!"

Cassandra takes the vanguard. "This way, down the bank. The road ahead is blocked."

"We must move quickly," Solas says from the rear.

Together, the little band moves on for the forward camp, making their way over rubble.

* * *

**AN:** Heading off on a Pilgrimage. Enjoy an update!


	4. The Wrath of Heaven 4

**The Wrath of Heaven 4: To the Forward Camp**

Andras, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas followed the path. The ground, while normally uneven, has been made even more treacherous by the rubble from the blast. Bits of wood and rock litter the ground, and even with their careful footwork, Andras stumbled, yet it was not from the ruin of the ground. Rather, he can feel the presence of… something. It niggles in the back of his mind, this other presence.

"Demons ahead!" Solas announced, casting him a peculiar glance. Andras hard, forcing his mind to stay in the present.

Varric smirked, leveling Bianca. "Glad you brought me now, Seeker?"

Cassandra didn't respond, instead bringing her sword and shield to bear. Andras, meanwhile, slipped his daggers from their sheathes. While the make is still unfamiliar – they are not _his _daggers – their weight in his hands are a comfort. Familiar.

He slipped into the battle, closing distance with the wraiths first.

It's familiar, the fight. Old muscle memory reawakened as he fought. Watch the fist, dodge the bolt. He becomes a swirl of grey, his robes flying about him as he fights. Yes, it's all familiar, he thought as he rolled, dodging a bolt of ice from a wraith. He times his strike, and his daggers make quick work of the fiend.

Before long, the demons are felled, and their small party resumed their back along the path. Andras breathed deep, the adrenaline still coursing in his veins.

As they walked, Varric broke the silence. "So I take it you're from the Free Marches?" he asked, casting a glance at Andras.

Andras raised an eye.

"Accent. I'm from Kirkwall, but you're from… further east, maybe?"

"Where do you think?"

"Ansburg? Ostwick? No? This is going to bother me," Varric said, rambling.

Andras just smirked at Varric. "C'mon. You're not even gonna give me a little hint?" Varric pressed.

Andras shook his head. "Nop-" he began, his smirk faltering as he sucked in a sharp breath, his face contorting in pain. He stumbled, clutching his left hand. the mark flaring.

"Shit, are you alright?" Varric asked, all humor gone.

Andras sucked in a shaky breath. One, two, three, he counted before releasing it. He nodded, grunting a weak affirmation. The look Varric returns to him lets him know the dwarf doesn't believe him.

"My magic cannot stop the mark from growing further," Solas stated. "We must hurry."

As much as Andras wants to quip back something in reply, he bites his tongue. All the adrenaline from earlier is gone. It's just the pain of the mark, burning his blood and bite through his stomach.

As the party continued their trek, Andras can't help but notice the others. Varric continued to cast little worried looks at Andras all the while. If he had been more himself, he may have found it endearing. As it was, Andras was beginning to just concentrate on staying moving, staying upright, and staying alive.

"So… are you innocent?" Varric asked, breaking the silence that had fallen. The dwarf was matching his stride. Either he was slowing down, or Varric knew how to push a pace.

Andras continued watching the path in front of him, worried he might misstep. "I… don't really remember what happened."

"That'll get you every time. Should have spun a story," Varric suggested, mock-chiding.

"That's what you would have done," Cassandra quipped at them from the front.

Varric threw his hands up. "It's more believable, and less prone to result in premature execution. "I don't remember," bah. No one ever believes that."

"I'll hold onto that thought," Andras replied. "It'd just be easier to spin a story if I knew what the truth was."

"Hey, but that's where the fun lies! You've got no truth now to hold you back!"

"Varric," Cassandra warned sternly.

The man in question turns a glance toward the heavily armored woman at the front of their party.

"It's harmless fun," he replied.

She stops walking, turning to glare at him.

"Alright; stopping," Varric replied, miming a sewing motion by his mouth. "Lips: sealed."

"Good," Cassandra said, resuming the lead.

They continued on in relative silence again until Andras felt his mark start to burn again.

"There's another rift ahead," he called out.

"We must seal it, quickly!" replied Solas, shooting Andras a peculiar look.

Cassandra nodded as she adopted her guard, and Varric again readied Bianca.

There's a clattering of metal on metal. The sound of armor in motion, Andras realizes. Some soldiers come running in their direction. "They keep coming! Help us!" one shouted between breaths.

Gritting his teeth and steeling his mind, Andras prepared for another fight.

"Get behind us! We'll end this," Andras said. Breathing deep, he succumbs to the moment, rushing in with his daggers. The soldiers, grateful to have someone else be the target, beat a hasty retreat.

The pain melts from his mind as the combat begins again. _Hunt_, a rogue thought beckons him.

Viciously, he lashes out with his daggers.

These demons, like the ones before, fall.

"Hurry! Use the mark!" Solas shouted to Andras.

Like the first time, Andras raised his left hand. The tingling sensation of uniting with the rift returns. It is a good feeling. Right. The mark is on his hand, his arm, his body. The mark is his, and by extension, the rift is his. He wants it to end, so the rift obeys and closes on itself.

"The rift is gone!" Cassandra shouted before he even finished lowering his hand. "Open the gate!"

"Right away, Lady Cassandra!" one of the soldiers replied.

The heavy gate clanked as metal beat upon metal, rising from the ground by the aid of a series of heavy gears and pulleys and the sweat of men.

Solas turned to Andras, the elf's composure neatly resettled about himself. "We are clear for the moment. Well done," he said, offering Andras a small smile.

"Whatever that thing on your hand is, it's useful," Varric added, thumping Andras across the back, staggering him. "Shit, sorry," Varric hastily replied.

Andras waved him off good-naturedly.

"I just wish I knew how to really use it…" Andras muttered to himself, lingering as the other headed into the forward camp. He took one last look at his hand and the skirmish site before crossing through the gate to join them.

* * *

**AN:** Sorry for the delay in updating. School and work got really heavy in these last couple of months, and I probably won't be back to regular writing until some time in the New Year.

For those who are asking, this is starting slow. I intend for it to be mostly the same up until the end of the prologue. Then we depart from the safety rails that Bioware gave us. Prologue will end on Chapter 7. Chapter 8 will begin the next arc.


	5. The Wrath of Heaven 5

**The Wrath of Heaven 5: At the Forward Camp**

There was another bridgehead. It was bustling with activity. Soldiers at bonfires prepped meals, the scent of herbs and meat wafting through the air. This combined with the smell of the dead. Other soldiers and some civilians were seeing to the deceased, wrapping the remains in linens and carting them from one location to another. The Chantry clergy gave these remains their last rites, preaching of the salvation of the Maker to the faith-hungry people. Other soldiers took care of the inventory and munitions, overseen by clerks with clipboards. Everyone wore a grim expression.

As the party passed through, Andras could feel the glares of the people upon him. He was the Destroyer, they whispered in hushed, hateful whispers – he survived the Temple falling while their Divine did not. He tore open the sky.

Yet not every face held such contempt for him. It was rare, he noted, but some few other survivors lacked the raw hate. Not acceptance, no – something else. Perhaps a debt repaid? Andras and his small party had saved some small bands of people from death by demons' hands. Perhaps these few were turning a blind eye to the Maker of the Breach, as the others named him.

Up ahead, Andras can see Leliana having a rather heated discussion with a rather mousy-looking cleric.

"We must prepare the soldiers!" Leliana demands.

"We will do no such thing," the mousy cleric rebuffs her.

"The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance!"

"You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility."

"I have caused trouble?"

"You, Cassandra, the Most Holy – haven't you all done enough already?" he huffs

"You're not in command here!"

"Enough! I will not have it!"

At that moment, the mousy cleric looks up, seeing the party approach. "Ah, here they come."

Leliana turns to face Andras as the party approaches. "You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is–"

"I know who he is," Roderick interrupts, turning to face Cassandra. He continues, a smug look on his face. "As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution."

"'Order me'? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!" Cassandra spits. Andras does not think he's actually seen her angry yet.

"And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!"

"We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know," Leliana cuts back in.

"Justinia is dead!" Roderick exclaims. "We must elect her replacement, and obey her orders on the matter."

"So none of you are actually in charge here," Andras notes, looking from Leliana to Cassandra to Roderick.

"You killed everyone who was in charge!" the cleric exclaims, his face now beet-red.

"I didn't. At least, not intentionally. Or, rather, I don't think it was me?" Andras says, beginning to ramble. Turning to Varric who's now giving him a look, he continues, "Hey. I don't even remember how I got there in the first place."

"If that's the tale you want to weave…" Varric trails off.

Roderick shakes his head, his jaw clenched. "Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless."

Cassandra is scowling just as hard. "We can stop this before it's too late."

"How? You won't survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers."

"We must get to the temple. It's the quickest route," Cassandra reiterates.

"But not the safest," Leliana notes. "Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains."

"We lost contact with an entire squad on that path," Cassandra says, shaking her head. "It's too risky."

Roderick looks between the two women. "Listen to me: Abandon this now, before more lives are lost."

Andras' hand flares in pain. He breathes a sharp breath, and squeezes his eyes shut, willing the moment to be over. From his peripheral, he can see the Breach react in kind, flaring and swelling with its malevolent energies.

By this point, everyone in the party knows of his pain. They don't even bother asking whether he's alright.

Instead, Cassandra turns to Andras. "How do you think we should proceed?"

A perplexed look crosses his face. "You're asking what I think? I thought I was your prisoner."

"You have the mark," Solas notes.

"And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…" Cassandra trails off.

"Fine," Andras says, crossing his arms. "Then we use the mountain path. Like Leliana said: we can use the soldiers as distraction. And like you want, Cassandra, we can get to the Temple faster. We take the path. Work together. We all know what's at stake."

Cassandra nods. It's pretty obvious she's not happy with the decision, but since he's met her, Andras doesn't actually think she can be happy.

Yet, true to her status as military, she begins the execution of Andras' decision. "Leliana. Bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone."

At her proclamation, Roderick narrows his eyes. "On your head be the consequences, Seeker," he says, jabbing his fingers at her as the party departs.


	6. The Wrath of Heaven 6

**The Wrath of Heaven 6: The Mountain Path**

Andras resumed his position in the center of the party, Cassandra leading the way. He follows her up a ladder, the party quickly ascending elevation up the mountain

Once they've all found footing on the snowy, rocky surface, Cassandra speaks. "The tunnel should be just ahead. The path to the temple lies just beyond it."

"What manner of tunnel is this? A mine?" Solas asks.

"Part of an old mining complex," Cassandra answers. "These mountains are full of such paths."

"And your missing soldiers are in there somewhere?" Varric asks.

"Along with whatever has detained them," Solas adds.

"We shall see soon enough," Cassandra says.

Andras can hear on her voice she doesn't hold much hope. Likely one of those "optimistic pessimist" types, where if you always expect the worst, everything is good.

Still, as he follows her up another ladder, he can't help but wonder if any soldiers are still alive. As they draw nearer to the tunnel, Andras senses… something ahead, for lack of better words.

"Hey – I think there's something up ahead," he voices.

The three others pause in their step.

"You hear something ahead?" Varric asks.

"In a sense," Andras replies.

"Right. Take caution," Cassandra says, bringing her arms into guard.

Solas, however, lets his focus linger on him. Andras can't help but find it somewhat uncomfortable. After a brief moment, the mage seems to realize he was caught staring, and brings his staff forward, preparing for the fight ahead.

When they enter the tunnel, Andras' feelings are proved right. Cassandra immediately engages the shade in the center, while Solas and Varric target one of the two wraiths together. Andras turns his attention toward the one wraith not engaged, slipping into the shadows.

The wraith summons icy spectral energies, hurling it act Cassandra. She grunts as the energy hits her, but shrugs it off as she hollers a taunt before bashing the shade in the face with her shield.

With the wraith otherwise occupied, Andras leaps from the shadows and plunges both daggers into the wraiths spectral back. Too late the spirit senses him, and it dissolves into mist.

Andras looks and sees that Solas and Varric have already handled their wraith. With all their attention now on the shade, the demon falls swiftly.

"That was the last one," Solas comments.

Cassandra nods. "Continue with caution."

Slowly, the party delves deeper into the tunnel. Snow and ice have blown in from the outside, the tunnel having not been sealed off from the elements. There are a few frozen cobwebs in the corners, and the way is dark. Here and there, a ray of cold light shines between gaps in the stone, the old structure succumbing to its age. Near those gaps are more drifts of snow and ice. His robes, he thinks, are a comfort in this cold. Solas, with his bare feet, must be freezing.

After that first fight, everyone is on edge as they continue creeping through the tunnels. While Varric tries to prod Andras for more updates on the presence of any demons, Solas keeps sending him curious glances. At least until more demons materialize from nothing.

"No heads up this time?" Varric calls, loosing a bolt at one of the shades.

"No – I felt nothing until just now," Andras replied, sinking his daggers into a wraith.

They finished off the other demons before resuming their path, skirting around bookshelves, overturned desks, and other debris. Andras takes a moment to pick up a book and flip through some pages only to drop it down again.

"Tale not to your liking?" Varric asks.

Andras shakes his head. He couldn't read the text on the page. It wasn't that the book was heavily damaged, no. Rather, the text was written in some form he didn't understand, like a code or something. Maybe he would have been interested in the puzzle at some other time, but with trying to race Death to this Temple, his time was a highly sought premium.

A gust of icy wind rips through the hall, and they all shiver. The light is brighter and steadier, too. Soon, the cold stone gives way to frozen earth and the snow crunches under their feet as they exit the tunnel.

Laying in the snow are three bodies, battered and beaten.

Varric sighs. "Guess we found the soldiers."

Cassandra shakes her head. "That cannot be all of them."

"So the others could be holed up ahead?" Varric asks.

"Our priority must be the Breach," Solas says. "Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe."

"I'm leaving that to the man with the glowing hand," Varric remarks, giving Andras a friendly nudge. Andras moves to nudge back, but the Breach flares, and pain shoots through. He's really starting to wish teleportation was a thing.

As they follow the path, they can hear more sounds of fighting, Andras' hand continues to burn as they get closer.

"Another rift," Andras murmurs.

Ahead, they can see the soldiers who yet live engaged in combat with demons.

One soldier successfully lands a blow, and his momentum carriers him. As she moves through her form, she sees the party. Or, rather Cassandra, the only one among them who has any real status.

"Lady Cassandra!" the soldier exclaims.

And for the first time since Andras has known her, Cassandra smiles. "You're alive!"

"Just barely," another soldier replies.

Wordlessly, the party joins the soldiers and beats back the demons. Just as Andras is about to close the rift, he's knocked from his feet while a tall, thin, green, insectoid demon bears down on him. He scrambles back on his elbows and heels, his hands holding his daggers protectively before him. Twice the demon uses its long, gangly claws to swipe at him, and twice he bats them away with a daggered fist.

A bolt to the head puts the demon down, and Andras can get back on his feet. He looks in the direct of the bolt's origin, and nods a brief "thanks" to Varric before he launches himself at the other terror. As he flows through a form to land a blow, the demon disappears. Everyone looks around for a moment, concerned at its disappearance before it erupts out of the ground, pinning down two soldiers.

Andras closes the distance and leaps at it, both daggers primed for the plunge. This time, the demon doesn't escape his hit, and it falls down, crumbling to ashen dust.

With the demon dead, Andras again raises his left hand, feeling the familiar connection with the rift. He wills it closed, and it obeys.

"Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this," Solas comments. Andras can't quite tell if it's a compliment, or something else.

"Let's hope it works on the big one," Varric says.

Meanwhile, Cassandra helps a soldier to her feet.

"Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra. I don't think we could have held out much longer," the soldier says.

"Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant. He insisted we come this way."

"The prisoner?" the soldier asks, confused. "Then you…?"

"We have to get to the breach, and quickly," Andras says, looking from the soldier back to the party.

The soldier now seems nervous. "To the breach? I don't…"

Cassandra takes mercy on the poor soldiers. "The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment. Go, while you still can."

The soldier gives a quick, neat salute to Cassandra. "At once." Turning, she then addresses the other three. "Quickly, let's move!" she orders, and then take off with haste to the abandoned tunnel.

As the soldier depart, the party continues its advance.

"The path ahead appears to be clear of demons as well," Solas remarks.

"Let's hurry, before that changes," Cassandra replies brusquely.

As much climbing as they've done before, now the path leads down the other side of the mountain. It's a welcomed relief, Andras thinks. At least now they're getting closer to ending this.

"So… holes in the fade don't just accidentally happen right?" asks Varric.

"If enough magic is brought to bear, it is possible," Solas replies.

"But there are easier ways to make things explode."

"That is true."

"We will consider how this happened once the immediate danger is past," Cassandra states. Just like that, the conversation is ended, and they continue on their way in silence.

* * *

**AN: **I am still working on this. I haven't died yet. I'm freaking out with all the writing that comes with a Master's Thesis, and I'll might need to write a procedure manual for work now, too. So: Double Update. I'm still editing Chapter 7. I want it to be better. But I've got good plans for the Hinterlands.

A quick question: does the Oedon Chapel Dweller have a name? I might have seen him named "Agatha" once...


	7. The Threat Remains 1

Yharnum Age: The Threat Remains 1

* * *

Andras wakes, his senses coming back to him one by one. First, he feels the softness of the material below his body and head. A bed? He gives the material an experimental push. He feels and hears the straws of hay cracking and giving under the pressure. He opens his eyes, moving a hand from below the covers, skimming over the rough woolen blankets. A bed, then.

His eyes take in the wooden ceiling above him and the walls around him. Someone moved him from the Temple. He's not sure if that should comfort him or worry him.

In his mind, he recounts the events leading to his blackout. The Temple and the demon. There was a Rift, and he sealed it, but not before it awakened memories…

The others. They'd seen the memories. How much did they know?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He'd need to find them, Cassandra and Solas and Varrick.

A loud thud echoes through the room, the sound of wood hitting wood.

His head whips toward the noise as a girlish voice exclaims "Oh!"

She's young, and her pointed ears resembles Solas's. An elf, then.

"I didn't know you were awake, I swear!" she says, speaking quickly as she ducks down to pick back up her box. Her nervousness is so plain, anyone would be able to sense it.

"Why are you frightened? What happened?" Andras asks, furrowing his brow. Discretely, he runs a hand over his face and along his back. Nothing unusual. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"That's… wrong, isn't it? I said the wrong thing," the girl amends, shaking her head. She's trembling, nervous.

"I don't think so–"

"I beg your forgiveness and your blessing!" the girl says, falling on her knees.

"Wha-?" Andras replies. Of all the reactions he was expecting, it was not this. What drabble are they spewing about him out there?

"I am but a humble servant."

Andras looks at her, more confused than before. Before sealing the Breach, he'd been a prisoner: accused of murder of the Divine Justinia, the massacre of the Conclave, and the destruction of the Temple. They had him imprisoned. They were calling for his execution.

"What is this all about? Is this another prison, then?" Andras asks. It's the only thing he can think of. Inevitably, the people would still want their assumed justice.

"I… no? I mean, I don't think so," the girl replies.

"Then where am I? Tell me."

"You're back in Haven, my lord. They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days!"

He shook his head, a part of him still unbelieving. He was out three days? But perhaps he'd been dreaming again. Unless this was a new dream? "So, a trial happens now, I suppose."

"I don't know anything about that," the girl said, confusion creeping back into her voice. She took a small step back, before her eyes flared wide. She bopped herself on the head. "I'm sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you've wakened. She said 'at once'!"

"And where is Lady Cassandra?"

The girl was already at the door. "In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. 'At once,' she said!" a strange, giddy smile creeping on her face as she ducked through the door.

"'At once…'" he muses, standing up. He shakes his head as he better takes in his surroundings. That girl certainly kept him occupied otherwise.

He examined the bed. It was plain, but the linens were clean and the wool quilt was loved. He had to admit it did keep him rather warm as he felt a draft of cold from the closed window. He peeked outside and glittering snow greeted him. He should probably don his mantle before he headed out. He spied a wooden desk with some papers on it. Not a dresser, but those papers…

Andras picked up the papers, flipping through them.

Damn. Just as before, they had been written in some strange code. He moves to tuck them in his robes only to find that someone changed him while he was out. Unacceptable. Yes, they were clean, but they were not his. They just didn't fit the same.

He frowns as he searches around the room again, looking for his robes. There! Neatly folded on top of an oaken dresser sat his clothes. Quickly, he stripped the clothes he'd been placed in and sorted through to ensure they were all there. His undergarments, first. He didn't feel comfortable not knowing where the borrowed ones came from. It just didn't sit right with him. Clean as they may be, he rather preferred his own.

Then plain, simple woolen socks and sturdy black trousers. Next, he donned a shirt and waistcoat, before throwing a long grey coat over that. The embroidered edges had worn from use, but to him it was merely a sign it was well-loved. He cinched the waist with a leather utility belt, small pouches and sheathes hanging from it. Carefully, he slipped on a simple hood – especially good considering the snow on the ground – and heavy grey mantle.

There. Now he was put together. He patted his pockets, ensuring all what he had was still there, and then tucked the papers into his waistcoat. He would find someone to help him interpret them in time. One of those three, if any of them still trusted him.

At the present, though, the elf had said Cassandra wanted to speak with him. Likely about how he killed the Divine and destroyed the Temple, or some other rot with the demon. He sighed, stepping out the door and into the bright sun, its light amplified by the patches of snow on the ground.

Much brighter than the nightmare that had been Yharnum, he mused, a wry expression crossing his face.

A score of soldiers line the path, preventing a mob of people from blocking the way. Unconsciously, he tensed. He was never very good with crowds, and he'd been treated with hostility on first crossing into this land.

Upon seeing him, the soldiers bring their arms to attention. A hand goes to one of his daggers on its own accord, but he steals himself from removing it from its sheath. He treads lightly, as if the soldiers and the mobs are just waiting for him to lower his guard before they attack.

No, he chides himself. This place is not like Yharnum.

As he passes, the people are whispering. It sets him on edge, even as he deciphers _what_ they are saying.

"That's him. That's the Herald of Andraste. They said when he came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over him," a man whispers.

Andraste? Who is she? He will have to ask Cassandra more on that. It sounds vaguely religious, and the last time he was involved with any churches, things got… weird.

"Why did Lady Cassandra have him in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything," another asks.

Someone replies in hushed tones. "It's complicated. We were all frightened after the explosion at the Conclave."

"It isn't complicated. Andraste herself blessed him," the first huffs. Andras is soon out of earshot of the rest of their conversation.

Well, at least they're having similar thoughts to himself. Still, he's not sure if he really want to embrace that… "Herald of Andraste?" That's like that one madman who declared himself the Host of Nightmares…

He passes more people on his way to the large church structure, all wishing him blessings. He is still unsure of how to process these well-wishes.

Two women are whispering furious to each other, both obviously excited to see him. He still can't imagine why.

"That's him. He stopped the Breach from getting any bigger," one says.

"I heard he was supposed to close it entirely. Still, it's more than anyone else has done. Demons would have had us otherwise," the other replies, not impressed. At least this one hasn't gone mad with hero-worship like the others. Keeping a good, grounded mindset, this one. "Still a lot of Rifts left all over. Little cracks in the sky."

"He can seal those, though – the Herald of Andraste," the first counters.

"Someone had better. You won't seal those rifts with the Chant of Light."

Then they turn to Andras, bowing in homage.

"Walk safely, Herald of Andraste," the first says reverently.

"Good luck sealing those rifts."

Andras gives a nod to the second, continuing on his way.

He passes even more soldiers and civilians, all lined up wishing him blessings and saluting him smartly. He hurries on to the church, the crowds making him nervous. He was never very good around people, not as a Hunter, nor… later. He still isn't very good with crowds. The faster he finds Cassandra, he supposes, the faster this whole ordeal will be over with and he can get down to deciphering why here – Thedas – of all places.

As he enters the church building, he passes more people whispering about him, about the conclave, and about the Chantry's stance on these issues. He's heard enough from the others that he doesn't linger. Their words, accusing before, praising now – so fickle. They're meaningless.

"Go in peace, Herald of Andraste. Maker watch over you," they say as he pushes open the heavy doors of the Chantry.

* * *

**AN**: for those of you who are curious, Andras' outfit is based on the Tomb Prospector kit.

I apologise for the long hiatus. School and work both got very busy and very intense, and I've only snatched some time now. I know my tenses are all mixed up and I keep jumping between past and present, but after editing for content, I'm too tired to make those grammatical changes. I know this is killing some of you, but hey – go write your own, lol.


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